Love is
by Miyazaki A2
Summary: A series 16 of Stein/Marie drabbles, oneshots, and ficlets. Based off of the poem "Love is" by Bakemono Hana or Hana-Bakemono, if you're on DeviantART. Which is where the poem is. Continuity is in the eyes of the beholder. Fluff and angst warning. Enjoy.
1. First Stanza

**Love is…**

**The stroke of a soft cheek.  
A blush.**

It was one of those evenings when nothing was going to get done no matter how hard either of them tried.

Stein recognized this fact only moments after sitting down at his desk, and he immediately pushed back on his swivel chair, carrying him across the room, miraculously without any falling over of any variety. He wasn't one to work _too_ hard, if he could avoid it.

Marie watched his semi-escape with narrowed eyes—erm, _eye. _What they were doing was really just meaningless paperwork to keep them busy until it was time to finally go home. But work was work, and they couldn't just _not _work…right?

But then, Stein was heading for the door, and it wasn't too long before closing time—so to speak—anyway, so Marie hastily, guiltily, stuffed the papers into a drawer in her desk, and followed after him.

He regarded her with a relaxed, wide smile. "You're like a little puppy," he told her in a casual, slightly affectionate tone.

She didn't quite meet his eyes—just looked somewhere in the vicinity of the rim of his glasses. "'S my job to keep tabs on you," she excused herself quietly.

Neither one of them mentioned the fact that _keeping tabs _was just that—an excuse. They both knew that so much time together was making them regret ever breaking up, ever leaving one another's side. It would have been awkward to mention it. Then, they would've had to _talk _about their relationship, and that simply wouldn't do. Marie had too big a tendency to lose her temper, and Stein…well, Stein was _loco en la cabeza. _And terrible at relationships. Hmm.

They silently made their way away from Shibusen, through the Halloween-y streets of Death City, and really weren't paying attention to where they were at all. Marie wondered distantly if they were heading back to his home, but she didn't readily recognize the path they were walking. Perhaps they'd walk forever, until they reached the ends of the world and fell off the edge, plunging forever into the depths of darkness and insanity.

But then Stein stopped walking, and Marie felt silly for imagining such dramatic exploits. She looked around briefly, and they were just in some alley. Not a park, not a field of sunflowers and sunshine. Just a small space between two buildings. A little dreary, but at least there weren't any hobos or muggers. Just a mysterious liquid on the ground…Eww.

"I've been thinking," Stein announced after a long silence, staring off into space, avoiding looking at her at all costs.

Marie crooked an eyebrow. "You do that a lot, or just recently? Thinking can lead to brain-strain, or fatigue, or whatever the term is now." She was rambling slightly, but with just enough of a teasing edge to make her companion's smile broaden.

"If you're done analyzing the quantity of my thinking," he said indulgently, his eyes sliding down towards her general vicinity, "I was hoping you might actually be interested in _what _I was thinking about."

And there was a hidden hue to the light tone of his voice—whatever it was he wanted to say, it was important. Or, he wanted her to think it was. But, either way, it sobered Marie up in an instant.

Her voice was low. "What have you been thinking about, Franken?"

He turned so he was facing her a little more directly. "I've been thinking…" He took a deep breath, but his smile remained casual and light. "I've been thinking that I'm not ready to _be with you_ again."

Marie blinked. This was unexpected, and a little random. Certainly not what she'd thought he was building up to. And that smile of his—that smile made it all the worse. It wasn't as if she'd thought he _was _ready; she didn't even think he really remembered that they'd ever _been _together in the first place. Where was this coming from?

She gaped silently at him for a long moment, at a complete loss, and then turned away, huffing.

"You think I didn't know that? Who says I want to be with you, anyway?" She kept her voice low to drown out the hysterical edge creeping into it.

And then there was a hand on her face, a warm, soft hand, and her knees felt weak, and her face felt hot, and she wanted to cry and laugh and slap him and kiss him and—

And Stein said: "Marie. You never listen until I'm finished talking, do you? I said I'm _not ready_. I mean, we still have a lot of work to do. There's capturing—and hopefully slaughtering—Medusa, and that's going to take up most of our time. You know that."

She did know that, but she didn't like it. Why did that bi—_witch _have to go and try to seduce poor Stein and get him all confused about himself, the universe, and everything? Really, the witch had thrown him and his insanity off by years, taken away so much time…

"But," Stein, continued, his hand moving slowly up and down Marie's soft cheek, as if he were cataloguing the contours of it for reference at a later date, "I know we'll get that all sorted out. Y'know, if we don't die trying. And, after…" He trailed off, leaving the statement open for interpretation, his hand moving from her hairline to her jaw and back again.

"After," Marie repeated, not exactly stating or questioning. "After?" She finally met his gaze again, and was unnerved by how gentle he looked. He really didn't want to hurt her. His smile was for her sake.

"Yeah. After. Because—yeah. After. Is that okay?"

It was a chance. It was all he could promise, and it was all that Marie could ever hope for. She could either endure Hell and insanity and witch-hunting and death-defying-battles and pain just for a chance at being with him again…or she could say, _No, that isn't okay. I'm ready now, and I don't want to wait until after. _And then she could leave.

She blushed under the attention of his roving hand, and nodded, closing her eye. All she could hope for was all she ever wanted, after all. It was enough.

"Yes. After's okay with me."

They did call it _Happily Ever After _for a reason, didn't they?


	2. Second Stanza

**Love is…**

**The sound of another's heart beat.  
A gasp.**

Marie has never had a very even temperament. She was cursed at birth with volatile emotions, and can never really decide how she felt about anything. One moment, she will hate something with a passion, and another she will be smiling gently and stroking whatever the hell it was. One moment she will be laughing hysterically, and the next, she will be at the other end of hysteria, hugging herself and bawling.

Whereas, Stein seems to be physically and honestly detached from his emotions. He's never been seen with tears in his eyes, has never really lost his temper. Sometimes he'll lash out at people, but only on very rare occasions. He is much better suited for sulking. He doesn't like arguments unless he is absolutely certain he can easily win them.

This is not one of those easy arguments.

In fact, he isn't completely sure what kind of argument this is. Marie is shouting about something. All her shouting sort of runs together after a while. It has always been like this. Stein can't quite remember why he puts up with it. It would be so much easier to just leave, travel the world…dissect anything with the misfortune of being within twenty feet of him…that would be a nice life…

Hot, angry tears obscure her vision. Her words are choppy, practically incoherent, but the intent is there. Stein isn't sure if she really isn't finishing her sentences, of if his mind is just filtering out the finer details of his offence against her. "…Absolutely _heartless! _That's what you are! Heartless! I can't believe I put up with you and your…! Would it kill you to…? Is it so much to ask…? …Heartless!"

He scowls at the accusation, but now he sees an opening, and he takes it. She's shaking with anger over whatever it is that he's done, but he nevertheless wraps his long, long arms around her and pulls her close.

Her ear is up against his chest now, and his long-fingered hand holds it there. He is very quiet. All she can hear is the air rushing in and out of his lungs…and a low _thump-thump_ing deep in the cavities of his ribcage.

His lips are by her ear, and his voice is low, serious, and heart-stopping. "Marie. Marie, I may not use my heart very often, but, believe you me, it's there."

She gasped for air; her mouth suddenly feels very dry, and her chest feels tight. Her anger is gone now—what _was _she so upset about, anyway? She'll remember in a few minutes, and then they'll be at each other's throats again…or, she'll be at his throat and he'll be taking a long drag on his cigarette and waving her off like she's little more than an annoying insect.

But for the moment, they just stand together, his arms acting as both a restraint and an embrace, and she nuzzles closer to his chest, to his heart. She imagines that there's a scar there on his heart, sloppily stitched together, like something out of Shelley itself. And she smiles momentarily at the thought, because, dammit, even though she knows that it may be pointless, she loves him, and she wants to make sure that the stitches never burst.


	3. Third Stanza

**Love is…**

**The feeling of their hair in your hands.  
A smile.**

Marie's head was pounding. She'd had four cups of coffee this morning, trying to make up for sleep lost while she worked late last night, and she regretted it dearly. Sugar highs always sent her crashing.

"Do you want some medicine? I have aspirin," Stein offered after her twentieth consecutive minute of groaning, sighing, and complaining. (Perhaps he should have offered earlier, but he'd always been just the teeniest bit sadistic.)

She gave him a weak, sarcastic smile. "Thanks, but I'd be too scared of blacking out and waking up on a surgical table to take any pills in _this _place."

He responded to the teasing with a casual roll of his eyes. "Good instincts," he teased back, but frowned when she grumbled and turned back to her work, her hand kneading at her temples. "Hey. Stand up."

She was surprised at how serious he suddenly sounded. She did as she was told immediately, unthinking. They stood facing each other for a long beat, and the only sound Marie could hear was that of the blood pounding painfully in her ears.

Stein had never been a nurturing type. He didn't quite understand the finesses of ending pain. Causing it was so much easier. But he knew how to _distract _someone from pain. (Granted, the distractions were usually designed to keep people from noticing that they'd been cut up during the night, but this must have been in that same strain of things.)

He slowly lifted his hand, and put it on the side of her pale neck. She shivered as his hand moved slowly across the sensitive skin, grazing her pulse, and ended up in her hair. Stein ran his fingers through the silky golden locks once, twice, a third time, again and again. She took very good care of her hair, he realized slowly as he bent down to press his lips to her forehead.

"There, now, does it still hurt?" he asked against her skin.

Marie shivered again, leaning slightly into his touch. She didn't know how to answer him. She was sure that the pounding was still there, but her mind was so muddled by his unusual attentions that she couldn't quite come up with an answer.

His fingers made another pass through her hair, and she smiled.


	4. Fourth Stanza

**Love is…**

**The brush of fingers against their back.  
A shiver.**

Whenever Stein touched her, it was gentle, it was brief, and it was rare. It was also often quite unexpected. There were times when Marie would itch for his touch, for the feel of his fingers on his skin, and he would have his hands jammed in his pockets. And there were times when she was angry to the point of violence, and he would suddenly get it into his head to grab her face in his hands and—and—

Intimacy issues, that's what it was, she decided, and tried to keep herself from thinking too hard about it.

It wasn't easy to _not _think about intimacy/relationship problems when one was bending over reports that _had _to be written but didn't particularly _care _to be written. Boredom was a curse, and it plagued Marie's mind often. She really needed to go to a club or something. Get out of the workplace. Put on something kind of skanky. Dance. Flirt. Get totally wasted and marry a stranger in Vegas…

Suddenly, she felt a gentle whisper of a touch across her spine as Stein walked past her. She shivered indelicately, her entire body convulsing in surprise and pleasure. She was going to turn around and chide her coworker/un-boyfriend for sneaking up on her like that, but she was stopped when said coworker/un-boyfriend leaned down and wrapped his long arms around her shoulders.

She froze.

"You're doing a really good job here," Stein whispered into her hair, the compliment sounding more sincere than any endearment he'd ever used before. "Keep it up."

And, true to form, he kept the contact brief and stood up straight as soon as he had finished administering the compliment, which was also as soon as Marie felt herself start to melt into his arms. He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked briskly to his own desk, as though he had never paused.

Another shiver wracked Marie's slender form. Okay, maybe these reports were more important that going out to a club. The club could wait, at least. Though, maybe she'd still throw on a slightly skanky outfit, if only to get those hands out of those pockets.

* * *

**_(A/N) _**

**Okay, this one was _really_ short, but I kind of believe in getting to the bloody point, don't you? ((smiles wickedly))**


	5. Fifth Stanza

**Love is...**

**The telling of secrets and stories.  
A laugh.**

Marie put her glass down on the carpet and tried very hard to focus on Stein, who had about four shuddering clones at the moment. "And that's why I wear the eye-patch," she slurred, grinning unnecessarily.

Stein sat cross-legged on the floor, looking at her with wide, awed eyes behind his glasses. "Oh wow, really?"

"God's truth."

"You are so cool, Marie."

"Nah, I'm just yer regular kinda girl. With an eye-patch." She took a swig of her wine, and her grin grew. "Your turn."

"Whaddaya wanna know?"

She leaned forward. "How'd ya get that scar?" She touched the permanent stitches on his heated cheek, and giggled.

He stole her glass and took a drink. "Did it to myself."

"No you didn't."

"Yeah I did."

"_Why?_"

"I was a little dunk. Wanted to see if I could dissect myself. Wanted to see what my brain looked like."

Marie laughed at a moment when laughter really wasn't called for. "You're stupid. Did it hurt a whole lot?"

"I'd kinda injected myself with enough morphine that I didn't really feel anything. I didn't get very far with the dissection, though, because of blood loss and all that stuff. So, if I grab a scalpel before I get a chance to sober up, stop me." He refilled Marie's now-empty glass of wine and handed it back to her, ignoring the fact that a little bit of the red liquid sloshed out onto the carpet.

She duly took a drink. "Will do…My turn?"

"Your turn."

"Hit me."

He thumped her lightly on the top of her head. "How did you first discover you were a Weapon?"

She laughed again, this time self-consciously. If her cheeks weren't already pink from the alcohol, she would have been blushing. "I was four or five. There was this, ah, little boy who lived next door. He was a jackass. He liked to chase me around and torment me whenever he caught up. You know, the usual stuff. Hair-pulling, name-calling. Anyway, my daddy told me that I should try fighting back. So, one day when he was being particularly mean and I couldn't stand it anymore, I reeled back to punch him… and my fist turned into a mallet." She showed him the aforementioned fist as if it was something she'd gotten for Christmas.

"Very cool."

"How'd you learn you _weren't _a weapon?"

"I never turned into one."

"Ah. That makes sense."

They laughed and shared another drink.

All night they'd been getting closer and closer to the floor, and it wasn't long before they were sprawled out on the wine-speckled carpet, still attempting to drink despite their being horizontal. Marie's cheek rested somewhere between Stein's shoulder and elbow, and she played with the collar on his jacket.

"So, do you have any other scars, or just the one on your face?"

"I've got one on my stomach from where my appendix got taken out."

"Did you do that yourself, too?"

They weren't really taking turns anymore. "No. An actual factual doctor did it."

"Wicked." There was a beat of silence. "So, tell me about what you did after we broke up. Did you ever get another girlfriend?"

"Nope."

"Really? Why not?"

"Didn't really like anyone else."

"You liked me?"

"Kind of."

"I had lots of boyfriends after you."

"How long did they last?"

"About a month or two each," she admitted. "I never really liked anyone else, either. But you know how scared I am of being alone. So I kept getting boyfriends."

"You're scared of being alone?" He knew this, deep down, but the alcohol was making him forgetful.

"Terrified."

"Why?"

"Because I am," she replied sullenly, not quite feeling like telling that particular secret story.

"Well you're not alone right now, so I guess you're okay, right?"

"Right. It's my turn, now, right?"

"I think so."

"Okay. What's with the screw in your head?"

"Funny story, that…" He attempted to take a swig, but only really managed to spill it on the carpet, and they both laughed drunkenly.


	6. Sixth Stanza

**Love is…**

**The apology of a hidden lie.  
A cry.**

Marie readily admits that she is aimlessly rummaging through the desk in Stein's small office. He'd been busy in the lab and, just to get her out of the way, asked her to go find a spare magnifying glass. (God knows what for.) Marie knew very well that there _weren't _any spare magnifying glasses in Stein's desk, or anywhere else in the house, but here she is, either way.

She's about to go back into the lab to bug Stein and tell him she couldn't find the magnifying glass when her idly roaming hand brushes a folded Polaroid picture at the bottom of a drawer. The fold is worn and crinkled, as if Stein has looked at this picture very often. She pauses. She doesn't want to invade Stein's privacy any more than she already has, but she's suddenly gripped with fierce curiosity. _Surely a peek can't hurt,_ she thinks. _It's just a photograph._

With fingers trembling with barely-suppressed excitement, she snatches up the photo and unfolds it in a hurry, as if she was expecting the police to round on her at any moment.

And then she wishes she hadn't bothered.

In her hands, Stein smiles up at her, hands in pockets…and a small woman with wild, blonde, braided hair clinging to his arm. She is wearing a nice dress and it looks like Stein's lab-coat is just the teensiest bit cleaner and better-pressed than usual. He looks mildly smug, that glint in his eye that says he knows something that no one else does. The background a brightly lit party-scene, people dancing and laughing behind the…couple. The picture must have been taken at the door, she thinks idly, in shock.

A blast of jealousy flares up inside her chest when she finally recognizes the smirking woman and her golden snake-eyes. Stein is standing with the witch Medusa.

Suddenly, the jealousy is replaced by remorse. Why does Stein still have this picture? Why hasn't he gotten rid of it? Is he holding onto it on purpose? Does he…have feelings for this madwoman?

Marie bites her thumb, her gaze never leaving the incriminating photo. She tries so hard to keep Franken from falling into insanity, and _this _is what he keeps within reach at all times? She feels betrayed and lied to, and she wishes she could tear the photo in two pieces, right down the worn-down fold, separate the two figures. Only to literally separate the two would bring Marie more satisfaction. She knows that the witch still had influence over his psyche, but she'd thought he'd been _resisting _it.

There is nothing she can do but stand here and cry pathetic, useless tears.

Eventually, the door to the office opens. "Oh, _here_ you are," she hears him say. "I was wondering where you ran off to." There is a pause. "What are you looking at?" He does not sound suspicious or nervous or angry. "Why are you _crying?_" Now he sounds mildly horrified.

Marie looks at him, her eye overflowing with salt water. "I was looking for a magnifying glass," she blubbers ineptly. "I was looking for a damn magnifying glass."

"What have you got there, Marie?" His voice is more insistent now, and there is a thin worry-line between his eyebrows.

Marie coughs through her sobs and scowls. "You tell me. You tell me what it is that I'm looking at!" She thrusts the photo into his hands and turns away.

Stein is silent for a few painful moments. Then: "It's a photograph of the witch Medusa and myself. It was taken at the party the night the kishin was released. I told you about that."

"You didn't tell me you _went _with her. You didn't tell me you kept the damn picture." She turns back to him. "I just don't understand. Why keep the picture?"

Stein says nothing. He seems to be at a loss for words. Marie is too out of control of her emotions to wonder at how that's never happened before.

"Do you have any idea how that makes me feel? It's my job to protect your _sanity_, Franken. But you keep this picture with you—how does that help anything?"

Stein's defenses finally come up. "Don't you think you're overreacting? It's just a picture. It never did anything to anyone."

"Damn it, it's not just a picture. I can tell, okay? I just can. You've looked at this a lot, haven't you?" She makes a grab for the photo, but he keeps it out of reach. The tears still flow down her cheeks. "Don't you care—"

"This isn't about _you_, Marie. Don't try to make it be."

"Oh, _fine_. Forget it. I don't care." She storms past him, already regretting her temper, and slams the door on her way out.

Stein doesn't know what to do. He watches her go, knowing she's not really leaving, sighs, and tosses the Polaroid into the wastepaper basket by his desk. He doesn't even register the motion. He figures it's just another defense mechanism.

Later, he finds himself making his way to Marie's bedroom. It's an oddly familiar thing, pleasantly intimate, though they didn't use this room back when they were together. It's the nature of the thing.

Marie is lying face-down on her bed. She isn't asleep, and sees Stein come in. She turns her back to him.

"Marie, be reasonable. Don't do this. I don't understand what you're angry about."

"I know you don't," she mumbles. She's still vaguely angry, and hasn't bothered to wipe her tears, though she's long since stopped crying. The tear-tracks are now sticky, shiny trails on her cheeks. But she's more embarrassed now than anything else, and can't bring herself to look at him. "I just—you told me you didn't care about her. You said she didn't mean anything to you. You said you hated her."

"I do," he answers reflexively.

"I guess. But the rest of that—that was all a lie, wasn't it?"

He says nothing.

"I mean, she's touched you, hasn't she? She's inside you. She drives you crazy." There is self-mocking sarcasm to her tone that Stein doesn't quite understand.

Stein sits down on the edge of her bed and remains silent.

"You're still not getting better, are you?"

"I'm not sick." Another automatic response.

She ignores him. "I wish you'd told me. I can only sense so much of what goes on in your head."

He touches the small of her back. "I'm sorry," he says.

A final tear trickles down Marie's cheek, and she smiles. She feels like they've turned a corner. She doesn't know what to do. "Yeah. Yeah, it's okay, I guess. Just…just keep me in the loop, okay? It's my job to take care of you, but I'm doing it for myself, too. And for you." _And to spite that bi—witch_, she doesn't say.

He rubs her back, just like he always used to when she was upset. "Okay," he says, and means it.

* * *

**_(A/N)_**

**_Lol, angst. Many apologies. XD_**

**_Much love,  
Miyazaki-A2. _**


	7. Seventh Stanza

**Love is...**

**The pair of lips pressed against a scar.  
A tear.**

The first thing Marie noticed when she walked into their shared office space was that Franken was not wearing a shirt. She was thankful that his back was to her, or else she would have been mortified by the hot blush that spread quickly across her face. It was silly—she had seen _much _more of his bare skin than just his back before…but then, she'd never been able to really suppress these old feelings. Her fingertips itched.

Needless to say, it was like being splashed with a bucket of ice water when Franken turned at the sound of her arrival and she saw the reason that his shirt was missing.

His face was wan and pale. The black scar under his eye stood out glaringly against the white skin. His eyes were full of pain, but too bright and wide, feverish, insane. She recognized the look, and his eyes could not hold her gaze for long. Her gaze traveled downward, only really seeing the sharp crisscrossing black scars…and then finally, she saw the ball of dark, deep red fabric that he held against his stomach, his taut fingers stained with…with his blood. There was a wet, bright red scalpel in his other hand, but Marie couldn't focus on that right now. She would think about that when she could.

You may picture her now running to him, screaming in concern and terror, demanding to know what had become of him. You may picture her putting him back together in a rush, blushing at every touch of skin against naked skin, as if she were some shy, nervous teenager.

You can stop that right now.

Marie did not run. She did not speak. She did not have the ability or the need. She knew, basically, what was going on, and how he would react to violence, even in the form of over-zealous concern. Instead, she looked to the cabinet on the wall closest to her and walked woodenly to it to retrieve a first-aid kid. She was utterly unable to walk above a stroll as she approached him, like he was a child that she didn't want to startle. With those unfocused eyes, he may as well have been.

She reached around and put her hand flat on the small of his back. She pushed gently but firmly against the hard muscled skin, and he obediently—vacantly—moved in the direction she wanted. They walked very, very slowly into another room, where a shabby sofa stood in one corner. She led him to it, and with gently guiding hands coaxed his rigid body into a lying position on the cushions.

He stared at the ceiling, his mind far, far away. It was not until she pulled the bright red scalpel out of his stiff fingers that he seemed to come around and regain himself. He gasped back into a state of awareness, but did not stop her as she removed his makeshift gauze from his open wound. She didn't look at his face, but she could tell by his relaxed muscles that he was himself again.

She didn't allow herself time to sigh a breath of relief.

They were both as silent as the grave as she tended his wound. She'd had field-training as a medic—it was a little bit of a private half-joke to herself. She thought it oddly appropriate that a Weapon should know how to treat wounds as well as create them.

Stein lost track of time as Marie deftly cleaned and stitched the hole in his stomach—well, it wasn't really as much of a hole as it was a gash. It wasn't deep, but stomach wounds bled easily. It wasn't as much of an emergency as Marie had originally thought. He had had worse. She had seen worse.

These facts did not stop the angry tears that welled up in her eye when her task was nearly completed. She taped gauze over the stitches, eye dripping wetly, and took a minute before finally looking him in the eyes. It seemed like hours since she'd been fawning and fantasizing at the sight of his bare back—like a useless teenager with a crush.

His eyes were lucid now, though he had to squint for lack of spectacles. "Sorry," he croaked wretchedly, seeing the tears and feeling a thud of pain that had nothing to do with his stomach.

"_Why?"_ she asked in a hard voice, edging towards a snarl, and Stein knew that she wasn't asking for the reason of his apology.

"I—I don't really—know what came over me." That was a little bit of a lie, but that was the only he could really put it. He'd lost himself. She'd been gone, and his sanity had lost its balance. That was obvious. "I thought…I thought there were snakes inside me. I wanted to get them out…cut them out…I stopped when I realized it hurt." His words fell flat and he almost chuckled as he realized how ridiculous he sounded, but Marie's expression did not change. Her face was unreadable. Her gaze fell to his bare torso again, and he knew her well enough to tell what she was thinking. She was wondering how many of his other scars were self-inflicted.

Then, she did something that—well, he wasn't exactly _expecting _it, but it wasn't enough to quite surprise him when she lowered her head to lightly graze her lips across a long, jagged scar that ran from shoulder to his last rib, across his heart. He felt tears dripping onto his skin after the kisses, and he shivered.

The moment was lost then, and Marie chided him wearily for moving. He whimpered—half-teasing, half-earnest—in response, and Marie rewarded him with a grimace. Then, before she left to retrieve some aspirin for the pain, she leant down again to press her lips solidly against his scarred cheek, and this time the kiss was dry.

* * *

**_(A/N)_**

**_((twirls fingers in the dirt.))_**

**_This fanfiction is_ angsty. _I didn't ever mean for it to be angsty. Hmm._**

**_Anyway._**

**_Much love.  
Miyazaki A2_**


	8. Eighth Stanza

**Love is...**

**The sight of watching them sleep.  
A sigh.**

In the years that Marie had been with Stein, she had never seen him sleep. They'd stayed over at one another's homes frequently in their years together, but that had changed nothing. He had always been reading or working when she drifted to sleep, and making breakfast when she awoke.

She always attributed it to the fact that he had a serious vulnerability-complex. He hated the idea of someone one-upping him, having something to hold over his head. To sleep in front of another, to him, must have been too substantial of a sacrifice of security, too substantial of a show of trust.

He'd never been big on the sacrifice thing or the trust thing, after all.

That was years ago. Now, they weren't really together, but still not quite apart. She'd been charged to look after him, to ensure his insanity did not go unchecked. She still more or less lived with him, although now they slept in separate rooms. Even with this new, more impersonal relationship, he never deigned to say, "I'm going to bed now." He just disappeared, while she continued whatever project she was entertaining.

Tonight was no different. About half an hour before midnight, Marie was still hunched over her work, long after Stein had departed. (She'd always had a stronger work ethic.) Now, though, yawn after yawn crept into her chest, and she couldn't stay up any longer. Feeling a vague sort of defeat, she shambled towards her end of the small building, her visible eye drooping.

The room was dark, but she didn't bother flipping the switch. She shuffled to her closet, changed quickly into a fluffy robe-like nightgown, and single-mindedly trudged towards her bed, moaning "Sleeeeeeep."

But, when she pulled back the covers, she was instantly wide-awake.

There, in her bed, _asleep_**,** was Franken Stein, snoring gently, huddled in on himself, glasses still in place. Sleeping where she couldn't possibly have missed him. In her bed. Obviously on purpose. Letting her see.

She gave a quick, quiet little squeak, and hastily committed the sight to memory, not knowing when she would receive a gift like this again. Stein...he was really opening himself up to her right here. She wracked her memory, trying to remember what she could have done recently to invite such a kindness. She couldn't think of anything specific.

She looked at him for a while longer. His chest rose and fell slowly, evenly, comfortably. She'd never seen him look so peaceful. She let out a breath she hadn't known that she'd been holding, a little _whoosh_ that turned into a sigh.

A strange warmth crept into her chest. Her heart stuttered irregularly. Before she could stop herself, she was pulling the covers even farther back, and climbing in beside him. She was careful not to touch him, not wanting take too much advantage of his gift, but still yearning to appreciate it. She pulled the sheet carefully over their two bodies, making sure not to stir him in the least, and settled in for a good sleep...The warmth of his body just inches from hers made her shiver, and it was insanely easy to drift away.

She dreamed easy, sweet dreams that night. And the sweet dream seemed to continue all the way 'til the next morning, when she awoke to see his scarred but peaceful face right where it had been last night, on the pillow beside her. A little whistle of air escaped from between his slightly parted lips, and Marie had to suppress a giggle. Finally daring to touch him, she reached out and brushed a strand of pale hair away from his face. He muttered unintelligibly, but did not wake.

Marie smiled just slightly, sighed again, and decided to do him the small mercy of getting out of bed and leaving him to his sleep. Outreach of trust or not, it would still be painfully awkward if they woke up in bed together. Even though she didn't really want to admit, it would honestly be a little painful. It was better to leave his little gift as it was, and not mention it again after this. She only wished that she _could _stay in bed with him and touch him more freely…_cuddle_, even!

…Not for the first time, she wished to be _with him _again.

* * *

**_(A/N)_**

**_Heh-heh. Hey, loves. I, uh...just realized that I haven't updated this fanfic in three months. Really hate myself for that, too. Do forgive me. D:_**

**_I actually wrote the backbone of this chapter a long while ago. It just needed embelishment. I kinda forgot about this fic. Again, very sorry. I'll be more prompt from now on._**

**_I tried to make this fanfic a little less angsty than usual to make up for lost time. Not sure if it's as _good _as usual, but whaddaya gonna do..._**

**_Eek._**

**_Much love,  
Miyazaki A2_**


	9. Ninth Stanza

**Love is…**

**The softness of their voice.  
A song.**

They were on a stakeout mission, waiting for a particularly troublesome group of kishin-eggs to come out of their headquarters, which was appeared to be an ordinary office building. They'd been forced to rent a car, since they couldn't just stand around in the middle of the night lest they be molested by well-meaning but dim human police officers.

At one point, Marie had turned on the radio at a low volume, just a little tittering noise in the background. She'd been jittery tonight, since it'd been a couple of months since their last big mission together, and the music seemed to calm her, no matter how mindless the songs were. Every once in a while, a few lyrics would slip from her lips, soft and sweet. All the while, though, her eyes stayed trained on the front entrance of the office building, so Stein wasn't sure she even realized she was doing it. Stein had to admit that, even in a whisper, her singing voice wasn't bad at all.

She seemed to know the most words to longing-for-love songs, as she would sing those songs nearly all the way through. It seemed as if she was such an unhappy little romantic that she had obviously spent a good amount of time pining over her unfulfilled heart with her iPod, memorizing the songs that spoke to her. It was almost sad.

Well, actually, it _was _sad, but also a little irritating. Stein didn't like how her wanting words made him feel oddly guilty.

"_I just haven't met you yet—"_

"They sure have been in there a long time," he cut her off in a whisper. "Do you think they went out a back door?" The question was a kind of lie, because they could both clearly sense the kishin-eggs in the building, but it still had the desired effect. Marie's shoulders snapped back and she glanced over at Stein with an embarrassed expression. Then her eyes moved to the building, her expression changing to one of concentration. Then:

"Uh, no, they're all still in there. It doesn't matter, really. We'll get them." Her voice was soft and confident and soothing, never rising above a whisper.

Stein leaned back in his seat, one lean arm stretched out towards the steering wheel, attempting to look carefree. He blew some smoke from his cigarette out the open window. "Do you want to go in and ambush them?"

"We're already ambushing them. Just wait 'til they come outside. Why are you getting so impatient all of the sudden?" _It's not like _you're_ the one who gets to eat them_, she added silently, a little annoyed. Stein was talking over her favorite singer. _Surely you're not that bloodthirsty tonight…_

"No reason," he waved her off.

"Are you okay, Stein?" she asked after a moment of watching him smoke. He had a knit in between his eyebrows.

"Tsh," he answered noncommittally, eyeing her sidelong. Casually, he changed the radio channel, trying to get away from the _it'll-be-great-once-we're-in-love-_song.

'_When the night has come…and the land is dark…and the moon is the only light we see…'_

Well, that was a little better. A classic. Less yearning, more comfortable. Marie gave him another strange look, but made no comment. Besides, there wasn't a chance. Just as the singer began saying how he wouldn't be afraid so long as his beloved stood by him, the doors to the office building opened and it was time for business.

"Finally," Stein muttered, and cranked the radio up as loud as it would go, making the eggs stop in their tracks and look at their car in shock. Marie morphed quickly into her hammer-form, and Stein scooped her up with an only-slightly manic grin. This would be fun.

And, well, even if they weren't quite on the same page personally at the moment, they were certainly in tune on the battlefield. That wouldn't ever change. They didn't have to worry about keeping their soul wavelengths in check; it was inherent, natural, easy. They'd always stand by each other. That was comforting.

_Crack_ went an egg's head. Out popped the ugly red soul. Over and over. In rhythm with the music, very efficient. There was no possibility of failure at all. Not as long as they were together, anyway.

'_And darling, darling, stand by me…'_

The job was done by the time the song had ended. Marie ate the souls daintily, the moon shining eerily behind her back. Afterwards Stein drove them to a shady 24-hour diner, where they just sat in a booth and talked softly as the other less-than-respectable patrons spoke and laughed raucously and songs about difficult love played on and on and on.

* * *

_**(A/N)**_

**_Maybe I'm just not _meant _to upload more than every three months. :(_**

**_Many thanks to HalfBrachenDemon for reminding me about this fic. :D_**

**_I typed this up pretty quickly, but I don't think it's all that bad, regardless. :) Some of these prompts are a little difficult to think up a chapter for._**

**_Songs mentioned:  
_Haven't Met You Yet _by Michael Buble.  
_Stand By Me _by Ben E. King._**

**_Much love,  
Miyazaki-A2_**


	10. Tenth Stanza

**Love is… **

**The warmth of being held close.  
A dance.**

The logic behind holding another ball a year after the last _(catastrophic)_ one was beyond Stein. Shinigami-sama, in his infinite wisdom, had decided that _pssh, _Medusa was gone from Shibusen now, and so there was no reason to walk on eggshells. History wasn't going to repeat itself just like that. Supposedly. Anyway.

So, with that _wonderful _encouragement, another ball was held, this time not in honor of anyone in particular, but rather to say, _Haha, witch, you can't keep us from having a good time and (in the case of those of us who are of legal age) getting completely wasted on free wine! _Stein didn't particularly want to attend, seeing how _swimmingly _the last one had gone, but Marie, who'd been blessedly absent for that fiasco, forced him into it. If nothing else, the woman was a _girl_, one who would grab any excuse to throw on a dress and a pair of high-heels. And somehow, she couldn't do all that unless she was on the arm of a man in a smart black suit.

Enter Stein, stage left, dressed in a smart black suit. He'd decided to forgo last year's white, stitched suit lest some residual bad karma follow him into this dance as well, and the decision certainly did not affect Marie negatively. From the moment he stepped out of his bedroom, dressed and ready, her face grew red and a stupid smile was planted on her face. Stein wasn't completely sure what she expected out of this night, and he was even less sure of how he felt about his options.

As it was, Marie didn't seem overly inclined to force him to take part in whatever romantic fantasy she had playing in her head; once at the ball, she seemed content to partake in the free food and alcohol and just sit at a table at the edge of the ballroom and watch the other dancers. Being honest, this was a surprise to Stein—he'd been mentally preparing himself all week for having to act as though he was completely comfortable in this room, with the band playing the same old songs as _last time_. But Marie didn't make a single mention of dancing for nearly two hours, instead just watching her friends dance and making small-talk with Stein.

"I feel like I'm at a wedding," she told him at one point. "With this cold salad and this cheap wine, I mean. And how we're not dancing or anything. I don't think I've ever danced at a wedding; I always feel like I'd be intruding somehow."

"Why's that?"

She obviously hadn't been expecting him to reply; she gave him an odd look, and then furrowed her eyebrows as if she really hadn't thought of a reason why she'd said what she had. "Well, you know…a wedding…is a celebration of marriage. I feel like only married people should dance at them…otherwise it'd be really, really presumptuous of the girlfriend to force her boyfriend to dance at one…you know? And it's not like I've ever been married, heh…"

Stein scoffed lightly, earning a small scowl. "Marie, what isthe _deal_ with your fixation on marriage? It's positively gotten to the point of _obsession_."

She bristled, biting her lower lip to keep from speaking too sharply. "Oh, don't be mean, Franken. I'm not _obsessed." _

He tilted his head. "That's debatable."

She seemed to deflate with every retort he threw at her. "Stein, we've talked about this before…can you just drop it?"

"No, remind me. Why are you so desperate to get married?"

Her nostrils flared. "Just let it go, Stein. I don't want to talk about this with you anymore. Forget I said anything. Ever."

And then he laughed. "Damn, Marie. I don't understand you one little bit." With that, he stood mindlessly, extending a hand to her. "You're _not _at a wedding. You're at a stupid school function where we teachers are allowed to act like human beings for once in our professional lives. Don't be so damn wistful."

She looked at his hand for a moment, not completely understanding, before looking him in the eye. "Franken, you don't really want to dance."

"No, I really don't. But it…it'll make you happy, right?" Because, really, Marie was getting what she wanted in the end, even if in a backwards, roundabout way.

And really, there was no way for her to reply to that, and he knew it. So she just stood, grabbing his proffered hand, and they half-dragged each other to the dance floor, each wanting to feel like the instigator.

Of course, like all wonderful cliché-riddled scenes, as soon as they were on the dance floor, a mockingly slow song began playing. Stein gave a little groan of defeat, especially once he saw Marie's vaguely triumphant smirk, but he pulled her close anyway, unwilling to back down once he'd made this offer. Marie went pliant in his arms, moving to the music almost immediately, and yeah, she totally was wanting this the whole damn night, wasn't she? Silly, silly woman. She really only needed to have asked.

And really, it wasn't as bad as Stein had convinced himself it would be. Marie wasn't a damn vindictive witch, for one, so he really needn't worry about potential enchanted reptiles needling their way from her body to his. And she wasn't one to banter throughout the entire experience, so he was able to actually sort of enjoy the way his body reacted to the music, taking care of his own basic motor skills as well as supporting what weight her body put on his. And her hair smelled nice; not in the dark, seductively natural way Medusa's had, but in the chemical-y, she-really-takes-care-of-her-personal-hygiene kind of way. Like strawberry shampoo and vanilla soap.

Really, this was completely different from his last dance at Shibusen. Marie was nothing like Medusa, and that made all the difference. Medusa had danced independently, holding her cold-blooded body up confidently against his so she could always be looking directly into his eyes, which in itself was probably a part of her spell on him. Marie, on the other hand, was content to keep her hands alighted softly on his upper arms while her head rested gently against his shoulder, leaning her warm body into him sweetly but deliberately. There was no seduction in the way she carried herself while they danced—only pure, unadulterated _affection_.

It was a little overwhelming. By the time the music reached its crescendo, he couldn't think clearly. Everything about this experience jumbled up his already not-quite-stable mind to the point that he was helpless when his body suddenly got the impulse to kiss Marie soundly on the mouth.

She made a small noise but did not pull away in the slightest. As if she too were caught under the mindless, joyous spell of the music and the dance, she kissed him back, _hmm_ing contentedly. More than contentedly. Delightedly. _Ecstatically._

But then she seemed to remember that, _hey wait_, kissing wasn't a thing they _did _anymore. She pulled away from him, looking into his eyes, already seeming to fall from Cloud 9 as realization set in. "Wait. Stein. Franken. What…? No. I thought…What happened to not being able to be with me until we caught Medusa? Why did you…do that?"

He winced slightly at the name, but then shook his head. What did she expect him to say? That, _hey wow, _he was really, stupidly _happy _for the first time in a really long time, and it was all her fault, and the only way he could think of to punish her was to kiss her? "I—I don't know. Uh, hah, I mean, since when have I ever been good at keeping my promises, right? I just…I don't know. Do you _want _me to keep that promise?" _Because I can, if that's what you _suddenly_ want_, he didn't say.

Her visible eye widened. "Are you kidding? I thought it was stupid from the beginning. I'd pretty much decided that was your way of letting me down easy."

He shook his head and laughed, because he really didn't know what to say to that, and decided it was better not to say anything. Instead, he began to move to the music again, as they had paused during their little make-out session, and she seemed to agree with his train of thought, moving back into the dance without a second thought. They could talk later, they decided. They would have to.

* * *

**_(A/N)_**

**_-_**


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